


a precursor to tragedy

by orphan_account



Series: unravel [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Proof Reading? No., Shiva is Jason Mother, Slow Burn, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 00:16:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15255204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He wants Jason, an assassin, the bad guy, Lady Shiva’s son. Dick wants him, craves him, and he sits on his hands till they are swollen.Nightwing exists because of tragedy, and the universe, never lets him forget.





	a precursor to tragedy

**Author's Note:**

> Lady Shiva is his mother (This is for you, Arielle.) in this AU and I wanted to delve into how that would change Jason, and then it became a Jason/Dick Thing, and then I had thought, new writing style. And Someone take this computer from me. I beg of you. Also! There's an explicit scene a little while after He stayed up all night. Be aware!

They stumble upon each other outside Pickman's of dinner. A small, run down building that Dick goes too, because he’s tired, he’s tired of a lot of things, and Bludhaven, when he’s not fighting, wavers on his soul, and there cheap, and they don't judge him when he comes in at four in the morning, asking for a bowl of Frosted Flakes. And he thinks nothing when he almost walks past a burly man, dressed in civilian clothes. He thinks nothing of the couple that's playing domino's, to busy cursing at each other, to notice, a full fledged vigilante.

 

It’s the whistle that startles him, “Ya got a nice ass on you, Goldie!” And Dick turns so fast, he could almost give himself whiplash. Jason grins when he catches Dick’s eyes, leaning back on the small set of chairs that Pickman himself had set up, near the chess table. He whips chili off his face with a napkin, and pats the seat next to him. He glances back at the couple, at least they were harmless.“Come on, I heard you gotta offer dinner first.”

 

(He hates Jason, well he doesn’t. Dick doesn’t truly hate anyone.)

 

“You want one?” Jason asks, nudging the bag over and Dick snorts, “You're offering me one of your chili dogs? Is the world ending?”

 

Jason thinks it over for a moment, picking one from the bag, his fingers already unwrapping the tinfoil. He grins , “You’re right, go buy your own.” He swallows, the humor washing off his face, when he catches Dick’s eyes. “I’m running errands.” He says, like that explains why Jason eating hot dogs at two in the morning.

 

“And here, I was thinking it was a social call.” Dick raised a sharp eyebrow, “In Bludhaven?”

 

“Everywhere, but the last time I tracked them they were in Blud. They took something of mine.Very Peculiar with it. I want it back.” He takes another bite, swallows the last of the hot dog, and starts picking at the fries. “There smart about it though. Definitely trained. Not one of the small guys.”

 

“League of Assassin or Shiva?”

 

Jason shrugged, “Neither. But my mother has been quiet lately.”

 

“I’m assuming your telling me because?”

 

Jason shrugged,  “I’m telling you because this is _your_ city. The League taught me to respect city's boundaries. I have no reason to break yours. And beside waking up with Shiva and her sword in your face is not pleasant” He stuffed another handful of fries in his mouth, and looked at Dick expectedly. Like he’s missing part of the puzzle, “Beside, you always said I was invited in Blud anytime I wanted.”

  
“I didn’t.” Dick swallows, “I didn’t say that”

 

Jason raises a neat, cut eyebrow, and sips out of his straw, “You said it with your eyes. _Oh, Jason won’t you come visit me, I get so terribly bored._ ” He paws off the rest of his fries to Dick, and he can’t stop himself from picking a handful out of the container. He hasn't eaten since four _yesterday._ And he likes to think that Jason past the stage of poisoning him.

 

Dick frowns and waits till he’s finish, “I definitely didn’t say that. It was more, tell me when you come to Bludhaven, Jason. I don’t like surprises.”

 

Jason grinned, “And what am I doing now?”

* * *

 

Him and Jason aren’t friends, They don’t call on weekends, slip funny texts on weekdays, talk about their latest adventure, pin each other postcards when they both get back. But they are friendly, after the first three, four, five - many - bust, he had to do with him. He’s not that hard to work with unless he’s angry, and not a sore part on the eyes either. They exist, in fraggle lines of a truce, Hood won't kill when he works with Nightwing, and Jason was  allowed to be in Bludhaven. When he had told him, Jason had furrowed his eyebrow, stating that he only killed the bad guys.

 

And when Dick hadn’t relented, Jason had shrugged, muttering something about he’ll see what he could do, and that was fine, it wasn’t a promise, but it tethered Hood close to something like one, and Dick? Dick could live with that.

 

So, he doesn’t think much of it, when Jason, for fun perhaps, starts showing up alongside him, all broody and moody. It’s nice, comforting even.

* * *

 

Jason, unlike Dick doesn’t even bother hiding his face, except for the thick red string, tied  tightly, on his forehead.

 

(Bruce had once said Jason was a replica of Shiva  Built only in the peripherals of her vision, A tainted imprint Shiva could never escape _._ )

 

Dick doesn’t get it. He doesn't pretend to either. His most used weapons is knives, Dick remembers, hidden around the pocket of his outfit. But his gun, a slanted gun, painted once delicately with the leagues symbol, has been scratched off and faded, instead replaced with the thick artwork of a skull, worn down to the hilt.

 

It’s Jason favorite.

 

He also doesn’t get that either and doesn’t pretend too.

* * *

 

Sometimes Missions are nice with Jason, built on a pair of trust. Dick doesn’t have to worry, when he Jason runs off, he’s like Kory, he’ll make it back safe, and he’s like Barbara, cunning and intelligent. Sometimes running with Jason is like running with another skin, Jason doesn't need to say out loud what he’s thinking, Dick knows the words like the back of his skin.

 

When Jason stops, and Dicks stop abruptly too, he thinks nothing of it, but when there’s no weapon, no person, he pears his head curiously over his shoulder,  “Something the bother?”

 

Jason eyes flick to his, teal, but green, and he shakes his head. “There’s children there.” Dick swallows, Jason’s touchy about children, always likes to be warned beforehand. Dick doesn’t know why, doesn’t ask why. Every man has secrets, and Jason looks like he lives on his. He has to be alert, Dick thinks, Jason’s rougher when there’s children involved. “I didn’t know.” Dick apologizes.

 

And Jason nods. Both have accepted long ago that you can’t know everything on the job. “It’s fine.” He stares down at the glass, and the little girls hovered inside, matted within themselves and adds, “How do you want to play this?”

 

“Soft,” And a snort escapes his lips and when Jason raises an eyebrow, Dick shrugs, “Get it? Cause ya know-

 

There’s a groan, general dirt being flicked in his direction, and Dick ignores the murmurs of how childish, Nightwing, fucking Nightwing, is for fixing his escrimas on his back. Dick will take it, he thinks, because when Jason turns away, his lips flick upward, making the freckles on his nose crinkle.

* * *

 

The girls get back home safely.

 

By the time, they escape the warehouse, the police are there, they thank him, he nods, and says it's his job. The girls stare at the red, and blue of the sirens with a show of relief, and Dick is glad it went as smooth as he wanted it too. He’s glad there going home, he glad that there getting out okay. He breathes out loud, “Guess we did a good job, Hood.” And when no one respond, he turns back to the dark damps of the warehouse wall. Dick sighs, straps the escrima sticks to his back and turns, Jason's funky like that.

* * *

 

It’s night out, and Dick and Jason sit together on a roof cushioned only by there uniform, and Bludhaven endless supor of broken glass. Outside the stars dreams of tragedy,  like small, circus lights, bundled under a cushioned tent, his parents laughter, he tries to remember his mother's smile, the tilt of her lips when he he jumped, the whites of her teeth, when she had fell. He feels empty when he could only remember her scream

 

“What was your parent’s like, Jason?”. Asking questions to Jason is like stepping on glass, and he buries himself in the shards. He wants to swallow his words, embed them in his skin. But Jason is quiet and still, and Dick thinks, perhaps the universe is too kind to him, perhaps Jason hasn’t heard the question at all.

 

But his voice is tight, too tight when he asks, “Shiva?” Dick nods, and the stars play on Jason shadows, on Jason’s tragedy, the curve downward of his lips, of the slight glow of his white hair, the teal of his eyes. “Why do you want to know.”

 

“I don’t know.” Dick voice flows through the air like honey and the heat embeds itself inside his words, worms themselves inside his skin, and Dick heart wants to bet out of his skin, out his chest - he feels like he’s falling -, and the ground, is beyond his reach, and the stars like the circus lights watch, quiet.

 

“I didn’t know she was my mother till I was seven. After that it’s been training, passing me on to different teachers - most with the league, others outsourced.”  Jason’s teeth tugs his bottom lip through, and when he pulls them out, they are raw, swollen, bruised, “I would kill them once I was done. I was _an_ investment. A promise to Talia, that I would be the best, a payback for hiding my sister.”

 

Dick swallows, pushes himself up on his elbows, so he could crane his neck better to look at Jason “You have a sister?”

 

“Yeah, Never meet her though. Heard she’s Good.” His voice is thick, but casual, silent, but piercing, cutting through the air, the humidity, the stars, and Dick’s ears. “Shiva is nothing more to me then a gene, a chromosome, with a chromosome.”

 

He doesn’t bring up his father. Dick could not find the words to ask.

 

He goes back to being silent, except of the small puffs of breath that escape his lips. Dick runs his tongue over his lips, bruises his hands into a fist, and bares his soul to the stars, to his fate, to his tragedy. “I’m a brother too, I’m sure you guess -  Robin and all of them. There very nice, hard but with Batman, you get that way.”

 

Jason snorts, “What happened with you then?”

 

And Dick swallows, “I don’t know.” He doesn’t. He always feel likes he’s burned raw, like his mother, his father are still falling -in a perpetual state of reaching - like everyone is falling, and he doesn’t know what do, other than to simply, burrow himself to watch, to burrow himself in the middle of the covers, and cry. He watches them all fall, watches them call his name, and his finger extends, the tip of his toes burned raw, but he never catches them on time.

* * *

 

Sometimes they track together in silence, except for the occasional radio splatter. The summer heat around them is conforming but Dick’s not mad, it could be worse, he thinks, he could be wearing Alfreds Sweaters, or his knitted hats, or - or, Barbara knitted scarfs. God, they were mess. The strands were falling apart, and if you pulled on them too hard, they began to unravel. He swallows, he wonders how she is. If Oracle is still going as strong. He knows how easy motivation slips away. He’s happy Barbara back, he’s elated, he’s just not sure it will last.

 

Part of Dick hates himself for thinking that, for letting doubt rule his mind, bend his back, but Bruce has always taught him the bitter pill of the truth. He knows she wants to move her power worldwide, become the force Batgirl had been and he promises she will. But they have to make sure, she could handle Gotham first.

 

Being with Jason is a lot like patrolling with Barbara, he likes to read, always picks out random book out of his pouch when he thinks Nightwing isn’t looking. He laughs at Dick's Dick jokes, even cast a few of his own, when he thinks Dick isn’t listening. He’s lively, he’s animated, and Dick feels like he’s back at the circus, with his own partner.

* * *

 

There’s moments when there happy, when  Jason tosses his head back and laughs, the hoodie falling off of his head, and landing, bundled together on the nap of his neck. The white streak, the teal eyes, and Dick swallows, he wants to remember the laughter, to memorize something he could never have, he wants him, craves him, he wants to reach out and pull the little strands of hair that don’t curl directly, count the freckles, press his lips on the bruise. He wants Jason, an assassin, the bad guy, Lady Shiva’s son. Dick wants him, craves him, and he sits on his hands, till they are swollen.

 

“You're an Ass, Wing” Jason says, and slides the knife back down the shaft of calves. And Jesus, Dick wishes his hands could feel the skin, bunch the muscle from underneath. He wants to know if there scared there too, if the freckles even reach that low and if they do, could he connect them like constellation on Jason's skin.“A huge big ass.”

 

Dick swallows and winks, “You are what you eat.” And Jason risks a smile in his direction, before flicking his attention back to the map of subtle targets.

 

* * *

 

He stays up at night, curled tightly in his bed,  long after patrol, where Jason nods, give him a salute, and flips elegantly down the roof. He doesn’t look back but Dick watches him go, till the shadows swallow him whole. He doesn’t understand these feelings, he doesn’t get them, but they breed inside him, multiply when he runs his fingers through its rough edges. Jason, he found out, mumbles in his sleep after a long stake out, its enduring, everything about him is enduring. He thinks it’s the allure of a mystery of what stands before him, that enhances him, and he swallows, but it’s Jason that allures him, captures his eye. He thinks there’s guilt built up inside him, but there isn’t any. Just questions, masked in a mystery, built to a terrible sense of need.

 

Sometimes, he lets his hands drift lower, imagines it’s Jason, calloused, and bruised. Imagine Jason’s the one feeling the edge of his briefs, teasing. Jason eyes wide, pupils blown, Jason, muttering Dicks name in the way that makes his chest tighten, the way that makes him want to hold him closer. Imagine that Dick’s wisping all the dirty nothing in his ear that makes Jason squirm.

 

He tosses his boxers off, when he feels them become too tight. He touches the tip, moves lower, teases himself like Jason's would. Does what he wants Jason to do to him. He doesn’t only want a handjob, and Dick moves his fingers slowly over his balls then back again, he wants to make love with  Jason, hear his name escape his lips, he presses on his head tighter before he starts pumping, he wants Jason to arch his back, Dick grunts, goes faster when he imagines Jason legs bring him closer, and he cums when he imagines Jason beside him

* * *

 

When other Assassins of the League see Jason, they call him a traitor, spit his name back to him in all its venom. Jason blinks but doesn’t say anything, etches pity on the stone face of an Adonis. Dick doesn’t get it, he wants to ask Jason about it, to inquire, but each time he tries, each time he does, Jason shuts down, turns his back to him till he’s facing a wall. There’s honesty in that action, and Dick appreciates him for it, enough for him, not to reach out and grab him.

 

Jason, Dick realized, doesn’t really like to be touched when he's emotional.

 

He always says the same thing, tone clipped and hard. “I made a choice, Dick. My mother made sure of that,” And Dick swallows and nods.

 

That’s fair.

* * *

 

He doesn’t see Jason in the next week, then a week after that. Jason had taken residence in Bludhaven for a month, stitching onto two.  He frowns, when the thought passes and says nothing of his latest adventure with the renegade assassins when Barbara does her weekly call. She wouldn’t approve, or maybe she would - and then what? What could he blame on holding him back?

* * *

 

“Wing.” Jason slides beside him on the roof. He’s warm, smells of cigarette smoke, gunpowder, and hints of nutmeg. Dick sighs, and drops his head on his shoulders, Jason’s tense for a moment, and Dick thinks, to stop, move his head, but Jason relaxes when Dick inhales, and Jason exhales. “I thought I’d find you busting up some heads.”

 

“I was.”

 

“And what happened?”

 

“I needed a break.”Jason tilts his back till he’s laying on his elbow, and Dick has to move his head away. He looks like he's contemplating Dick's words, the moon playing shadows on his face. He looks bare in the moonlight, not a trained assassin, not Lady Shiva son, not the Red Hood. He longs young, innocent and it guts Dick dry. “What are you doing here?”  

 

(Why did you go? Why did you leave?)

 

“I needed to tie up some strings, close loose threads, that type of thing.” Jason's teeth tug on his bottom lip, and out. Dick needs to stop staring, he needs to - he needs to look away. But he doesn’t, he can’t, and he curses himself for it. “I have what I need.”

 

And Dick swallows, that’s okay, he’ll miss him, a part of him will and he raises his head, to stare at the parts of Bludhaven he can’t touch, the aging sky, the tilted skyscrapers, the dying trees. “That’s good,” He tucks his knees underneath him.

 

“You were helpful,” Jason says, and Dick closes his eyes.

 

“Okay.”

 

Jason looks away, closes up on himself, and he stands, and Dick follows, He looks down at Dick, teal eyes, freckles, and the moonlight, showing through the white strands through his hair, “Don’t get to any trouble without me.”

 

It’s not a formal goodbye, but it sounds a lot like it. And Dick nods, and Jason stares down at him, like he’s waiting for something, and there close, so close and - And Dick kisses him, does it without thought, without presumption, without preamble,  just places his lips on the soft, dips and curves of Jasons. He melts onto his skin when Jason wraps his arms over Dicks back. His finger intertwine in the back curls of his neck, lace themselves in the being that truly is Jason. He thinks, that if any person could write this now, it would magical, soft, but its not, there’s teeth, there’s resemblance to the two broken men that meld together. There’s a piece of what Dick wants, here, in his hands.

 

Jason pulls away, for breath, Dick assumes. His lips are bruised, swollen,  pink at the edges, and Dick wants to trace the shape ever so lightly. He wants to kiss him again, and again, and _again._ There still close enough that Dick could feel the heat of Jason breathe, when he mutters, “It was nice seeing you, Nightwing.”

 

Dick nods, but he doesn’t let go, He doesn’t want to, but there other people in this world, who needs Jason watching there back and he swallows. Sticks his hands on his hips, and nods his head.“Indeed it was. Till next time. Little Wing”

 

Jason grinned, softly, ghostly, like he shouldn’t exist, before flipping off onto the building, onto the street, onto the edge of the universe where Dick can’t touch, where he can’t follow. Dick sighs, runs his hand through his hair, and leans back against the roof. Tonight, he wants.

* * *

 

“I come here with a request.”

 

Lady Shiva is casted in of gold, sketched in iron, and filled with blood. Lady Shiva was created alone, and for what it was worth, she wants to die alone. She blankets herself in the light of the room, till she commands attention. She waits, because she is a patient women, and a patient woman is dangerous. The owls stare at her, and she pulls the steel from her spine.

 

“The information you have stock piled on the Redhood.”

 

The owls twitch in there seat, hide themselves underneath there mask, but she feels there eyes bore into there skin, wanting to embed themselves into her mind, owls while curious creatures, were one born entirely out of habit

 

“Your son, Lady Shiva?” She nods, raises her head till she could look the owl in his eyes. She does not hide it, her regrets are out in the open, her mistakes etched upon her skin, her pain written upon her lips. “And what will we get from this? We have no new Talons to be trained.”

 

Shiva grins, the fronts of her lips twitching. Her smile exists in secret, bladed perfectly from the things of swords, of knives, of pain she has long since became accustomed too. The stones are falling in place, she will die, finally. A death by a family hand, just as Shiva was born from one. Two contingency plans.

 

“I can give you the whereabouts of both Batman and Dick Grayson. _There current whereabouts._ ”


End file.
